An Open Letter to One Direction

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I hate you. Or, well, I wanted to hate you. Unfortunately, however, I do not hate you. Rather, I hate what you’re doing to me.

To be honest, I thought you guys were all fifteen. That’s not an insult! You all have a certain boyish charm! Imagine my surprise when I Googled you and realized you were my age. Actually, this will work out when we date, because I’m nineteen and just recently stopped getting children’s menus at restaurants. (Yes, we’re going to date. I can’t say for sure whether there will be a rotation, or if we’ll all date at the same time. We can hash out the details over some tacos. I hear you like tacos, Harry.)

For weeks, I literally couldn’t tell you guys apart. My twelve-year-old cousin painstakingly tried to break it down for me by highlighting each of your unique qualities; I remained convinced, however, that we now had five British Justin Biebers running amok, and I just didn’t need that kind of turmoil in my life…especially after my Cody Simpson phase, during which I screamed “iYiYiYiYi!” for weeks on end and hated myself.

But then the earth shifted. Stars aligned. A butterfly flapped its wings somewhere. Suddenly, I could NOT get enough of your stupid songs on the stupid radio, and I devoured your stupid interviews like they were Three Musketeers bars, which is not a comparison I use lightly. Now I know more about you than I know about myself. (Will this be awkward on our first date? Should I pretend not to know so much so you can tell me yourselves, thereby creating a bond as opposed to a one-sided romance? Oh! OH! I know! It’ll be like that scene in 10 Things I Hate About You, wherein Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger take turns saying rumors they’ve heard about each other and then confirm or deny them. Just pretend you’ve heard things about me so this will work.)

For instance, I hear that you, Harry, have kissed two fans. Why not make it three? I’ve never kissed a boy before. You should probably be my first kiss, because one day when I’m famous (for inventing something wildly unnecessary but inexplicably popular, like the Snuggie, or for rescuing a child from a rogue lion at the zoo), it’ll be one of those fun facts they put on-screen at the theater while you’re waiting for the movie to start. It’ll say “Fun Fact: Elodie Parker’s first kiss was Harry Styles.” And people will say, “Wow! That is a fun fact!” But if you’re not game for a smooch, how about a handshake? A fist bump? Maybe eye contact? Can you imagine what my cousin would say if I told her I made eye contact with Harry Styles? I’d be the Cool Older Cousin, which would rectify a certain un-coolness I boasted when I kept getting your band’s name wrong like some kind of really out-of-touch senior citizen. (I kept calling you “New Direction” or “Old Direction,” and she gave me this absolutely scathing look that said, “You’re dead to me.”)

I’m following you all on Twitter. You should follow me on Twitter. This will help our burgeoning relationship. I can get regular updates and watch as you do interviews and travel around the world, and in return you can watch as I try to do perfectly ordinary things like use public transportation and somehow wind up paying homeless men twenty-five cents for knock-knock jokes.

Look, let me break it down for you. I need you all to stop being so charming and likable and START ratcheting up some realistic human flaws! Your hair’s too smooth, Liam, and Harry, your smile is too adorable! Niall, your laugh is FAR too contagious! There are YouTube videos dedicated to your constant giggling! And Louis? You look way too good shirtless, so get that under control. ALL of your accents are way too attractive, so those will have to go. And Zayn? Come on, Zayn! I was recently watching an interview in which you were facing the camera directly and saying words, but I lost track of everything because your eyes started to twinkle. I’m serious. I do not kid about twinkling eyes. How did you even do that? Was it a conscious move on your part to render countless girls suddenly bamboozled? You could’ve been saying, “You know, sometimes I think we should reenact the Donner Party tragedy for a reality TV show, except with kittens,” and I would’ve been nodding enthusiastically. Also, the depth and intensity with which you stared into the camera made me feel as if you were staring into the darkest corners of my soul. (Stop that.)

It doesn’t help that your music is so damn catchy. Not all of it, but enough that I want to buy everything to satisfy what I’m convinced is an evolutionary-based NEED to dance. I also saw you on iCarly, and I haven’t been that jealous of Miranda Cosgrove since she got to spend YEARS with Drake Bell and Josh Peck and basically live the life I always wanted.

I hope you’re all happy. You know, I was perfectly happy before I had this all-consuming obsession akin to the Freddie Prinze Jr. infatuation of 2011. Congratulations. You have awoken the untamable beast within me. I’m a Directioner now, and I am neither proud nor ashamed—it’s simply a path I must take, a destiny I had to choose. I’ve known it for some time—perhaps I knew it all along.

Your Fan and Soon-To-Be Girlfriend(ish),

Elodie

I may or may not have snorted an actual Cheez-it out my nose from laughing so hard while reading this post. Are you a One Direction fan? Do you hate how much you love them?

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About the Author

In real life, she goes by the name Courtney Gorter. This is a closely guarded secret, and you're the only one who knows about it, so be cool. You can follow her on tumblr or Twitter if you want, but it's just going to be a lot of complaining.